


Eat Your Heart Out

by enkiduu



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkiduu/pseuds/enkiduu
Summary: Steve keeps looking at him with such longing as if he knows Tony. In order to do his job, Tony pretends he's defecting from Hydra to figure out why and, more importantly, prove that Steve is wrong.





	Eat Your Heart Out

When they finally shake off their pursuers, for now, Tony announces, “I can’t keep it up,” and promptly collapses to the floor of the motel room.

“Oh my God, Tony.” Steve’s fearful tone is frightening, reminding Tony that death is supposed to be scary, not familiar. There’s a touch of horror in Steve’s voice, as expected, but. This is new. Usually they scream for themselves.

Steve moves to deal with the injury. “No,” Tony says quickly. His eyes strain, looking at the plain white ceiling. It’s an old view. “It’s okay. I’ll heal.”

Steve frowns. “When were you hurt?”

Tony tries to think back. Tony’s own memories get fuzzy, sometimes. “Right about when we escaped the facility. You should’ve seen the other guy.”

“Are you fishing for compliments? I was there.” Steve’s fingers flutter over Tony’s stomach, brushing the T-shirt aside, avoiding the wound carefully. “It’s deep. Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s fine. I heal fast,” Tony repeats, disregarding that he has a hole in his stomach, which seems to concern Steve a lot more than it should.

_Worried gaze. ”Are you okay? Don’t go to sleep. What did they do to you? Hank! Get—_

It appears genuine. That’s what Tony is trying to figure out. He wants to disprove his theory.

“How fast?” asks Steve.

“Enough,” Tony says. “Anytime now.”

“You don’t look like you’re healing right now,” Steve says dubiously, worried. Worried. Tony doesn’t believe him. Humans are supposed to be cruel and heartless. Humans made Tony into the monster he is, after all. Tony signed up for this, but this was never his design.

This plan was, though, and this wound is worse than Tony planned it to be. He hasn’t eaten in a while. It messes with his regeneration.

Tony feels the urge to laugh. He wonders if Steve’s got a masochistic streak in him. Why does he care about a monster? No, really. Tony’s mermaid file literally labels him as a monster. “Aren’t you supposed to be Captain America, not Captain Obvious?” he asks, words stuck like his throat is being constricted by a net. One, he hates nets. Two, he really does not want to shift right now.

And then, the pain hits. Or rather, it registers. He can’t stave off the transformation.

It had to happen. They escaped the facility, but there are some things Tony can’t run from. And Tony’s not just talking about the bullet wound. A healing factor is extremely rare nowadays, but the way Tony goes about it is very unpleasant. This is necessary, Tony needs to see Steve’s reactions, but.

Tony really didn’t want Steve to see him like this. He’d stayed in his human form for a long time. While restrictive, it’s what Steve got used to. He feels a stab of frustration. Damn it. Even though this is on his own terms, he still hates it.

“Mermaids really aren’t as pretty as people think they are,” Tony informs Steve. Steve’s expression is tight, but he can’t feign indifference. _He never could, never wanted to,_ Tony thinks fondly, then suppresses that fondness because sentiment is stupid in this situation.

Tony feels his legs get heavier, the bones twisting and— _fuck_ , it never hurts any less. This is evolutionarily _stupid_. It’s not evolution. This is unnatural and messed up. He feels like he’s being chopped into sashimi. “Uhh. Bathtub,” he wheezes, gasping as the air he swallows feels like serrated glass, slicing his insides. It’s too dry. Too, too dry. His eyes, too, they burn.

It’s almost as bad as when they poured acid into his eyes to test how fast he healed. Their little experient had ended up being Tony’s little experiment. Tony discovered very quickly how slowly humans healed. Or rather, didn’t heal at all. That was interesting.

Steve hauls him to the washroom and slides Tony into his bathtub. Tony rakes the sides of the tub with his claws to get a grip. Steve doesn’t even make a sound, just turns on the water.

“Colder,” Tony rasps, and Steve nods.

It’s not the best scenario in which Steve rips off his clothes, but, well. It could be worse. He could be in a lab again. God, he hates labs. He especially hates labs that mess with magic. Good thing magic isn’t a thing anymore, not on Earth.

Tony moans, closing his eyes and sinking down as low as he can. Everything cools down gradually. He inhales deeply.

What a shitty human he is. The it could be worse part? That’s a lie.

He could still be in a lab. That would’ve been better. At least then he has an excuse for being a monster—has other people to accuse.

Here, the monster is just Tony.

“I bet you’re regretting you saved me now,” Tony says, surfacing slightly from the water, enough so he can talk. Fuck, he missed the water, as sick as this is. Nothing good comes from this.

He blinks. His world has shifted, become darker with his transformation back. The gleaming black of his eyes has completely swallowed up the blue, that vestige of his humanity gone. Steve didn’t turn on the lights. Tony’s pretty sure they can both see fine in the dark, though, so he wonders what Steve is trying to avoid. Tony was originally going to shift back after his wound healed, but he thinks he wants to see more.

“You should’ve told me,” Steve tells him. “We could’ve stopped earlier. How did I not notice?”

“I forgot,” Tony says. He didn’t want to stop. Their little escapade had been… fun. Now that they’ve paused on their little road trip, Tony’s not so sure they can restart it. “You should’ve left me in the prison, Steve.”

“No,” Steve says firmly, shaking his head. “Not after you sent the distress signal.”

“It was a risk,” Tony says. “For you to answer it. Infiltrate the place and find me.”

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. Tony carefully keeps his expression neutral. Steve smiles, a small smile. “Bucky only told it to people he trusted,” he says quietly, and Tony is glad that that is all he says about Bucky.

Steve’s hair is all wet. Tony wants to run his fingers through it, drag his claws over Steve’s scalp, hear Steve moan and cry his name. Tony’s eyes shutter and he gasps, a frisson of pleasure igniting a hunger he hasn’t felt before Steve.

Hunger used to always be about survival, but there is no survival here, not for both of them.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asks, sounding a little breathless. Kneeling by the tub, he looks awkward, almost unsure. If Tony didn’t know Steve better than he should, he’d think it very uncharacteristic of him.

Tony peers at Steve through the water droplets on his lashes. There is so much he could do. What would Steve let him do?

“Yeah. I will be,” Tony lies, drinking in his look. He swims up a little, slowly, resting his arms on the edge of the tub. He heals fast. His reliance on water increases exponentially after he switches form, he’s surprised he lasted two whole days. Tony supposes he feeds on desperation just fine, too.

And Steve Rogers, the last true enemy of Hydra, is a very desperate man. There is nobody left to give him any mission now. He will hang onto just about anything he sees that he (thinks he) can save, and he sees Tony. Tony is his new mission. His final mission. He just doesn’t know that yet, and Tony thinks it’s fine if he enjoys this for just a little longer.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Steve murmurs, voice rough, looking like he hates himself. Strange. Tony thought he had a monopoly on that. “They would’ve kept experimenting on you.”

Tony sighs. “You could’ve,” he disagrees. “You just didn’t want to.” Not after being in Tony’s company for three months. Nobody lasts three months, Tony thinks. He never lets them. He can remember the awful rush of water, flashes of red and gold, not being able to breathe. He feels sick. He feels hungry.

He feels like he’s known Steve since forever. Does Steve feel the same? Is that why Steve was so pleased when Tony told him in the cell that night, when Tony told him that he was going to defect from Hydra? One person won’t make the difference.

Steve didn’t.

Yet he still tries, so stubbornly. Tony wants to know why. That’s the only reason they’re both still here.

Steve frowns. “Why do you keep trying to make me regret my decision?”

“Why not,” Tony replies. “Why don’t you? You know what I do.”

Not all of it, though. He’s sure that Steve doesn’t know everything. Steve doesn’t know how Tony became a mermaid, nor why he was there sharing Steve’s cell. He doesn’t know why Tony is here right now.

Tony has always hated being grounded. Tony doesn’t know what it’s like to be completely free, but swimming is close to freedom. He thinks he would like flying, too.

“What you _did_ ,” Steve says.

A laugh bubbles out of Tony’s mouth, revealing his sharp, jagged teeth. “It still happened, Steve. Right now, it is peaceful, but… you don’t keep a monster in an aquarium during wartime.”

Steve hisses, grabbing Tony’s arm, and there is a heated anger in his eyes. He looks so hurt. Tony recoils, jerking away, tail smacking Steve instinctively. He nicks Steve’s cheek and Steve lets go. They both know that Steve doesn’t have to—in terms of brute strength, the super soldier is stronger.

Steve backs off, standing on the other side of the very small washroom. The moment is drawn out, hanging over them like a trial, unsure of who’s the judge and who’s the executioner. Tony is used to being looked at—he’s more wary of being seen.

Tony stares at Steve, unblinking. Silent. There’s only the sound of water filling up the tub, and Steve, breathing. Heart, beating. Just the one heartbeat.

Tony can attack right now. Steve is the last of the Underground, the resistance group. When Tony stops him, his job is finally done.

He can get the inevitable over with.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t your choice, Tony,” Steve finally says, says first. The rage is gone. Or hidden. Tony’s not so sure anymore. The memories tell him that Steve could never hide his rage, but they seem to be faulty these days. Maybe none of them knew Steve as well as they’d believed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Right,” Tony says.

Steve looks at Tony like they have known each other for far longer than just three months, and he’s rattled by some of the things Tony says about himself sometimes. Things that aren’t even lies, and Steve looks like he doesn’t think they’re true. It pisses Tony off, because it’s impossible. Tony has been Hydra his entire life. All of the memories that he’s stolen corroborate that fact.

The only chance to unravel reality is if Steve has a different set of memories.

Steve’s eyes flicker to Tony’s tail, a red bleeding into gold. There’s a sense of wonder in his eyes, followed by a certain sadness. Steve reaches out, telegraphing the motion. “It’s… quite something,” he says.

Tony’s lips curve up. Finally. “Quite something, huh,” he says as he turns off the tap. He wants Steve to hear this.

In one fluid motion, he sits up onto the side of the tub with as little splash as he can. He takes Steve’s hand and, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes, moves it onto his tail where Tony’s thighs would be. He leans close, head at Steve’s chest. He can hear Steve’s heartbeat, he always can. It’s so loud and steady, and always louder when he knows Tony is nearby.

“You’ll be okay,” Steve says firmly, like if he says so, it will be so. He’s operated on a lot of faith, and that is why he’s lost. Everybody has a price, and Steve is the only one left who seems to think freedom is worth paying for.

He touches Tony’s scales, too gently for comfort. Tony doesn’t do comfort. The notion makes him want to dive back into the ocean, to lurk in the deep abysses where he cannot be found. Instead, he’s got a tiny bathtub that barely fits him and a troublesome super soldier who’s on the run, staring at Tony and saying, “You’ve already healed.”

 _Will you,_ Tony thinks dimly. He doesn’t need to look down at his body to know what’s there. There will be no scar, no visible ones, but everything is bloody. The tub fills up, water a deep red, just like all the waters Tony has ever been in. Some things never heal. Some things can’t be washed away.

“Why did you save me?” Tony asks.

“I didn’t.”

Tony leans closer, daringly. Despite what they say about Captain America, Steve is a lot less immortal up close. Steve shouldn’t have let him. All Tony wants to do is push even further, see when Steve will snap.

Everybody snaps (Tony did).

Tony needs to know why Steve hasn’t, yet. All his friends are dead, Tony’s made sure of it. The Underground resistance group’s fatal flaw was that everybody trusted too much. Not enough need-to-know going around.

Break through one of them, the whole foundation collapses. And here will lie Atlas and all his failures, Tony thinks. Tony will be his last (he wonders who was the first).

Tony presses his lips against Steve’s skin, an obvious kiss. His lips are cool against Steve, who radiates heat. God, he’s hungry, and cold. His breathing grows fast, erratic, and he moans at the thought of all that he’s going to do. Desire overwhelms.

Steve tenses. His heartbeat quickens. He doesn’t withdraw his hand. “Tony,” he says hoarsely. “We can’t.”

“Why, did you save me for something else other than company?” Tony asks, voice low. He could change back—but he doesn’t want to. He thinks they both need this little reminder, it’s better this way. He takes out Steve cock, carefully so his sharp nails don’t cause any damage. That can come later. “Or are you afraid?”

A beat. Two. Then, Tony starts to stroke Steve’s cock, feeling it grow hard in his hand. He should’ve done this earlier at the Raft. He licks at the head, tonguing the slit, and begins to suck, oh fuck, Steve tastes so _good_. Tony moans around his cock.

Steve gasps, hands coming onto Tony’s shoulders suddenly as if he’s realizing what’s going on, but not with enough pressure to actually push him away, just enough to make Tony pull back and pause. “No… Tony, I wasn’t asking for this. I can’t. You don’t have to do this. Not as—payment.”

Tony bares his razor sharp teeth in a grin, doesn’t miss the way Steve’s gaze catches on them, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s guilty, the way Steve hardens even more as if he enjoys the danger, needs it (needs Tony) to feel alive. “No. Of course not,” Tony says. “I know _you_ can’t be bought.”

“People... have tried,” Steve says as Tony swallows him down. His fingers go to Tony’s nape, resting there, and Steve is trembling. Steve bites down on his lips like he’s holding something back, staring down at Tony with a heavy gaze, lust, and something softer, deeper, more damning.

Tony wants to laugh, but then he thinks he might never stop. Penance, salvation, regret, these words (almost) mean nothing, not when compared to the knowledge that Captain America is falling apart in his mouth. There is nothing submissive in the way Tony can speed his heart up, can stop it at any time.

“I know,” Tony says.

Tony wants to sear this moment into his mind, never forget how it feels to have Steve thrusting his hips, fucking his mouth hard because Steve just can’t help it. He savors the noises Steve makes in the silence, the way his breath stutters and his moans of Tony’s name sound like a prayer, a plead, a beg. When Steve comes, Tony swallows every last drop, breathing hard and shivering with pleasure.

Tony pulls Steve down for a kiss—he needs to know Steve’s secrets, and he finds that he tastes blood on Steve’s lips already. He lets out a whimper—Steve tastes so fucking good, Tony sinks his teeth down, eliciting a surprised, sharp inhale. Tony’s still so hungry, his entire being aches, like he’s being pulled by gravity. He presses his claws against Steve’s chest, lightly enough to only draw red lines. He briefly considers carving his name here, on what is his.

Steve curls his hand around Tony’s arm. “Tony,” he whispers, hurt, like the world is crumbling around him, or maybe it already has.

Tony falters. He has heard Steve scream, heard him curse, always out of anger and pain and determination. He’s never heard him _whisper_. Never seen him like this. There was one thing Steve, even after all those years, never gave away. None of the hearts Tony had devoured, none of them had seen this before. Tony prefers the bang. In a bang, Tony can drown everything in screams and shouts. In silence, Tony can hear Steve’s heart crack.

This is what heartbreak looks on Steve. It looks… familiar, but it can’t be, because Tony doesn’t have a single memory of this. He sifts through the memories of countless (that’s a lie, he knows exactly how many—forty-two, forty-two) people who knew Steve for much longer than Tony, and none of them have seen this expression.

This is what makes Tony doubt. Is it fear, that makes Tony not want to confirm this theory? Which does he fear more, that this is a game of deceit, of Steve making something that doesn’t exist up, or—

Maybe Tony can delay knowing. He doesn’t ask for forever (not anymore), just a little longer than this. He’s already done so much for the world, after all, and the world can wait for him, just this once.

Maybe Tony can keep Steve distracted. Maybe Steve can distract Tony. It might be enough. He knows it won’t be enough. Except he knows… maybe was thrown out the window when everything became chaos, and the only thing left was what must be done.

Tony used to be a lot better at probabilities.

Just because Steve can’t do something, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to.

(Tony is the opposite—he can do things he doesn’t want, and doesn’t want to do the things he can.)

 

***

_Tony dreams of gold. He dreams of another life._

_He dreams of another death._

_He dreams of another stolen memory._

_“Bucky,” Steve says._

_“Steve,” Tony-as-Bucky says. “If I don’t make it, don’t come for me. Nobody gets out of that place. Iron Man didn’t, all those years ago. Jan’s radio-dead, and the rest of them must’ve given up, because Hydra knows things, Steve. They somehow just know, as if they have a psychic working with them.”_

_“The mutants are happy off by themselves,” Steve says. “It can’t be.”_

_“I don’t know, Steve.”_

_Why did you come now, Steve, Tony wants to ask._

_Tony-as-Bucky snarls when the glass shatters and the monster swims in, and then there is darkness. And then it’s just Tony._

_(why didn’t you come earlier?)_

 

***

“Here,” Steve says when he returns from outside. “Got a sandwich for you.”

“Just put it over there,” Tony says, having shifted back and found new clothes. He taps his feet. Smiles, stands up from the bed. “Where are we going next?”

Steve looks disappointed, more reserved than before. Is it the smile? They haven’t known each other long enough for Steve to expect certain things out of him, yet he does. “I’m going to go check on some leads, try to convince a few old friends. You’re free to go,” he says. “If you want. I can’t put a leash on you like they did. It’s wrong.”

Tony arches an eyebrow, surprised to see that Steve means it. “I’ll follow you,” he says. He’s gotten the hang of lying to Steve. He’s had a lot of practice (has he?). “I’m on your side.”

Steve smiles wryly. “Okay,” he says, like he desperately wants to believe him, but can’t.

For the first time, Tony wonders why Steve keeps him around if he doesn’t.

He wonders if he can convince him.

(—and he almost always gets what he wants.)

 

***

Sometimes, Steve looks at Tony with such aching longing that Tony thinks he must be seeing somebody else, someone he has actual history with. But Steve always dreams with Tony’s name on his lips, and looks haunted when he wakes, as though he thought Tony had gone off and died somewhere.

_“I’m tired,” Steve says. “What if I’m wrong?”_

“It’s not good to chase ghosts, Steve,” Tony tells him, kissing Steve. He tastes like loneliness and desperation and, on the bad days, he tastes like hope. When he takes him, Tony can (almost) forget about those dreams, because they never happened, not really.

“You’re alive, aren't you?” Steve asks when they clean up and Tony is sitting in the tub again. They’re somewhere in the middle of Nevada, and Steve says the lead was a false one, again. Is he even trying? Tony is getting impatient, and he is really fucking starving now, he can’t sleep and his insides are twisting, coiled into something that cannot be held.

Tony ducks underwater and exhales, bubbles popping at the surface. He peers up. Steve’s face looks blurry from here.

“You’re dying,” Steve says bluntly. He turns on the light for once—Tony winces, his pupils constricting violently at Steve’s bluntness along with the sudden brightness.

“Congratulations. You figured it out,” Tony says. It’s a weird guess to sound so sure of, isn’t it? Cross one thing off the list.

“I guessed.” Determination sharpens Steve’s features, makes him look more alive. He must be glad to have a definable problem. “You just confirmed it,” he says. “We’ll skip the part where I’m pissed at you for not telling me. Why are you dying, and how long do we have to fix this?”

“That’s...” Tony pauses, rubbing his face. “Nice of you,” he finally decides on. Steve’s mistaken if he thinks Tony Stark is definable. “Thanks. But no.”

“You want to die?” Steve asks, sitting beside Tony.

If Tony had a heart, it would sink down, he thinks. “I have a reason to not live.”

Steve’s eyes flash. “You said you would help me.”

“I am,” Tony lies. “That’s why I’m dying.”

“That makes no sense, Tony,” Steve says, frustrated. “You’re not one to give up. Are you? Tell me.”

“Is that an order, Captain?” Tony asks, twisting so he can face Steve. He bats his eyes and looks at him with a sideways smile, which seems to anger Steve further by the way Steve’s hand darts out to hold his arm. “Ooh,” he coos softly.

“Why do you never take this seriously?”

Tony sighs. He looks at Steve, as earnest as he can ever remember himself pretending to be. “I’m not trying to die, Steve. I didn’t say that. I’m trying to not kill.” The sad smile is probably overkill, but it works on Steve every single time.

(Every single time?)

Tony’s head hurts, abruptly. It feels all so pointless. Steve just won’t stop, even though all his leads are false. Tony doesn’t even send his intel back to Hydra anymore—he actually wants to see if there are any other Underground members, but apparently Tony has been too good at his job.

“You eat…” Steve looks sickened. He’s noticed that Tony doesn’t eat, then. His mind must be going through stories about mermaids, sirens, monsters. Tony’s not the only merperson to have existed, after all.

“The war is over, Steve. Hydra won a long time ago, long before they took down your friends. Long before you went into hiding.” The memories of some of them sting a little. All of them remembered Steve so fondly, it’s unfair that Tony can’t shake that connection he feels. “Wake up. The war ended a long time ago, you’re the only one still fighting the one war inside you. I’m tired, Steve.” Tony splashes at the water gently, a depressing flop of his tail. “You even said you might be wrong, too.”

Steve tenses. His eyes are wide. “I don’t… Tony? I have never said that to you.”

“Haven’t you?” Tony asks, bitterly. “You seem to think I’ve done a lot of things I haven’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m dying, Steve. Maybe—maybe Hydra is right. If we go surrender, they can change me so I can be human. We can be together.”

Steve closes his eyes. “I knew it,” he says softly. When he opens his eyes, they’re dark. “You never defected, did you. Not from Hydra.” Steve is clever enough. He doesn’t need to watch a video of Tony eating Bucky’s heart to figure it out, or a confirmation that Tony has the power of memory absorption. “Tell me the truth, Tony,” he says coldly. He thinks Tony is lying. That voice, Tony doesn’t like (has never liked it) on him, but he sure uses it well.

“Steve,” Tony says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Don’t say my name like that, Tony,” Steve says.

 _Don’t say my name at all,_ Tony thinks. It would be easier. “Trust me,” he says. “It’ll be okay. We can make things better, together. I need you to—”

“I don’t have a single reason to trust you,” Steve hisses.

Is Tony not reason enough (was he ever)? “You want to," Tony says. 

“Yes,” Steve admits. “God, yes, I want to trust you, Tony, but _wanting_ is not enough in this world you helped build—and destroy.”

Tony flinches, a quick jerk of his head that he can’t stop despite himself. His words, they slip out even more easily, twisted by anger. “The world is safe, no matter what you seem to believe. It’s worth it,” Tony says. Which is… not the right thing to say. Steve drags him out of the tub.

There is no room for this fight, shit. No time for this. Too much of this.

Tony has seen Steve fight, and it’s very different when he’s on the receiving end of the punches, because with Tony, this is a fight to hurt, not to win. There will be no victory to this. The walls are cracking, the porcelain scratched the tub, the iron beneath it breaking.

“Okay, fine. I am still Hydra,” he says, pulling Steve down into the tub. “I always will be. This is the future, Steve. You’re the man from the past stuck in the now. You need to accept this, or else—”

Steve widens his eyes, soaked in water. He mutters something like always the futurist chained with _God, Tony, even now._ “Hydra,” he repeats, shaking with the fury and ruin of a man who has lost his world. “The world is not right. So many people have died or lost themselves. Tony...”

“I have always been Hydra. Unless you have proof otherwise. _Tell_ me otherwise, Steve. How do you know me?”

“I don’t,” Steve snaps. “I don’t know you. Fuck. Tony. I’d heard it was possible, memory transference, but… oh my God. You ate—you ate my friends,” he chokes, furious. Grief and shock glaze over his eyes. “Is that what you’re after, is that why you’re here? Tell me. What gave Hydra the right to decide things for the rest of the world? Who gave you the right? They took away your choice, so you take away everyone else’s?”

 _He doesn’t know me._ Tony sucks in a breath, then exhales, and smiles, feeling cold. That’s that, then. He doesn’t have to worry anymore about Steve having memories or actual feelings for him. This isn’t real.

If Tony had a heart, it would be pumping rapidly. As it is, all he hears is the pulsing of Steve’s blood, the flaring of his pure, hot rage. “Yeah. I did,” he gasps, back pushed against the wall, his tail being stepped on. “They tasted so good, Steve. They all loved you so much. Everyone who loved you, they thought about disappointing you, you know, when they died.”

Steve cries at that. “You have severely underestimated what I am willing to do,” he says, hand curled around Tony’s neck. “You used Bucky’s memories to profile me, didn’t you? Tony… Bucky doesn’t know what happened after Bucky died.”

“Why can’t you just learn to surrender?” Tony rasps. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Stop shifting the blame, Tony, nobody _makes_ you do anything,” Steve tells him. “I hoped you wouldn’t, but you did. You surrendered. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I don’t even know what you’re even fighting for.” Tony is so sick of this human, being so stubborn about something he won’t say.

Steve just looks at Tony, pained, wrecked. And says nothing.

They’ve both learned in very different ways how to best deal with wounds. One presses on them, bandages them up and soldiers onwards, stands his ground (he thinks it should hurt less than this). The other lets himself bleed out, makes himself into something else, that way he can’t bleed anymore (he thought it would hurt less than this).

They’ve both learned that tears run dry eventually, just like ideas and memories and faith. There is no survival in this, not for either of them.

“I lied,” Steve says, voice brimming with hatred and disgust, and Tony is (almost) shocked at the intensity. “I was hoping you would actually turn on Hydra if you thought we had something.”

Tony’s eyes widen. He laughs painfully. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, understanding now. “You’ve been deceiving me this entire time, just so you can live longer, right? Keep your enemies close and all that. Oh, that’s good, Steve. I didn’t expect it from you, you must’ve taken some lessons from Widow. You know—I can’t believe I considered letting you go. I thought you knew me.”

Tony arches, grinding them against each other, searching for friction. He smirks at the scent of blood—Steve is injured—and arousal. He smells it, it makes him lick his lips. Slowly, for show, for a reminder.

For them both.

An opening like the one Steve gave him? An opening means vulnerability, means still having faith, or being blinded by love. Tony always considered openings weaknesses, always dove down to rip them apart.

Tony didn’t think it was a bait. He’s so disappointed.

No… no. God. Scratch that. He’s elated. There’s no redemption in this story, no salvation, no heroes. They’re long past that. Long, long, long long fucking past that, and that’s why Tony laughs. He’s so happy that there are tears in his eyes.

...

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I’ll give up.” And he surrenders, finally realizing that he’s on the wrong side of history, the side that does not exist. Cannot. And together, they will make everything right, and Steve will bend and they can finish their little road trip, and they can do all the things Tony has wanted to enjoy with him, always...

See—that’s how Tony wishes it went. In another world, it never goes this far. Or maybe it always does.

(this isn’t that world. it wasn’t supposed to be like this

but. Tony will take what he can

this is the next best thing.)

In this world, it’s so much easier to have a target, so much easier to see an end to this.

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve warns, shaken, and Tony can’t be the only monster here, can he? Not with the viciousness in Steve’s voice. He can’t have cared, if he is so cold and bitter now. He can't. “Or I’m going to make you.”

“Like I’ve unmade you? Huh. Or is it—oh I see you, now. Do you enjoy this?” Tony asks, laughing, because it’s all so fucking funny. He tried so hard, so hard to just—act human, with jokes and smiles and actual sex. For Steve. No point playing human now. Steve is right. “I’m so disappointed in you, Steve,” he says softly. “I’ll have your heart, Ste— _ah_ —Steve. You’ll let me.”

Steve says nothing, responds in silence, as if nothing matters anymore. He sees nothing left to fight for. Steve is much more terrifying than Tony. He’s human. He deepens the bruising, rage fueling their touches and bites until everything aches. He kisses Tony painfully hard like he’s drowning, and Tony moans, shudders, laughs brokenly in return because he knows exactly who started the flood.

With this, there will be no one else in the world to remember what it used to be. No more war. Finally. No one left to fight. Tony sinks his teeth down, and—

  

***

Silence.

(There is nothing left to say. The only person in the entire universe he wanted to convince is gone.)

  

***

The worst part is—if Tony had the chance, he would do this over the exact same. Even knowing what he knows now... He could. He can.

Tony used to be a lot better at possibilities.

In the end, time washes everything away. The tides will dilute the red, fading, failing, until they are nothing but seafoam, whispers of their story, their world, forgotten. Only the clear waters remain.

The best part is—no one will know.

  



End file.
